FOMO

The family vacation, Rangeley week, began on Saturday, and the anticipation has been palpable for several weeks leading up to this much beloved week of fun.  For some, the week has had a delayed start because of scheduling conflicts, although if one can arrive even for a few days, the experience is worth the effort.

I received a series of text messages shortly before and after my arrival which generally is not unusual under these circumstances, but what I didn't appreciate was the lingo used to describe not being physically on site.  FOMO or the Fear of Missing Out evidently is the abbreviated text jargon for this very emotion.  Well, I am that much more informed about the texting world than ever before, after my daughter shared this generational information.

Rangeley week has been a fixture now on the summer calendar for nearly 3 decades, and it has morphed into the equivalent of SBW, Summer's Best Week, and TAFJ, That's a Fact Jack!

Hidden in the Fog

While sitting on the front deck of a my sister in law’s family camp in Maine, I was looking out over the lake which was blanketed in a dense fog.  The morning Sun was up, but its warming effects hadn’t yet taken hold to burn it off.  Having enjoyed a glorious day of weather the day before and having been here several times over the years, I knew what the landscape ought to look like, yet I couldn’t see any of it.  I heard the soft  sounds of voices echoing from the lake, presumably those of fisherman heading to their favorite sites.  The distinct hum of car and truck engines in the distance, the chirping of birds, and the many other sounds of the day all provided for the melodious background music.  

So, what does this all mean?  In many respects it reminds me of the meaning of faith.  Faith is believing in the things that you cannot see.  When the fog is thick and obscures the view, one must rely on those other senses to offset the visual impairment.  It is having complete confidence that those unseen images really exist: however, as the fog lifts, the panoramic view confirms the presence of one’s belief that there is something wonderful out there just waiting to be “scene”!  Keep the faith my friends…

Soul Searching

No doubt all of us have roots somewhere, whether it’s in our local community or from a distant shore, so naturally, there are times when we may return to those roots.  My mother’s father came from just outside St. John New Brunswick, and when she was younger growing up in Boston, she’d often take the trip to Black River with her family to visit with family and friends.  There were times when her aunts would forgo the 2-3 day car ride down east, so  instead they’d take her on the steamer out of Boston for St. John.  Once at Uncle Willy’s though, as we later referred to it, life would slow down and the days would become seemingly carefree.  It was definitely a simpler time, but the experience left one rejuvenated in many ways.

After my mother started her own family, she shared this tradition with us.  It started with my older sisters and became a regular junket for years to come.  On one occasion, I recall my father telling me that mom had taken her mother and my oldest sister to BR for a week long respite.  Well, the weather was reported to be glorious, so they were going to stay another week.  This went on for 3 weeks and finally, my grandmother and mother decided it was time to return home to Boston.  For the trouble of staying with my great uncle and aunt, both my grandmother and mother each felt compelled to give them a little something for their stay.  They did this independently of informing the other, assuming  and there would be enough between them to get home.  Well, as my father informed me, they arrived in Boston with a few bananas and 2 dollars in their pockets!  Evidently, that was the price for making the pilgrimage to a small piece of heaven on earth.

There have been many trips back to BR over the years and each one had its own uniqueness.  My mother rescued a wooden sleigh from an abandoned farm, she reclaimed barn boards to repurpose them into a lean-to at home, we had 4 flat tires on one trip traversing the gravel roads of BR, and all of this was woven into the routine of the day, eating, gathering berries, walking the landscape, including the beach, playing in the creek, or whatever suited the moment; life in Black River was decidedly less complicated.

If you asked my youngest brother what he remembers about BR, he’d be quick to tell you about one of the scariest moments of his life.  The bucket for collecting the well water had fallen off the pole and hook while fetching water; it obviously needed to be recovered from the bottom of the well.   My dear uncle came up with a plan.  He enlisted me to help hold my brother’s ankles while we lowered him into the well hole.  I was thankful that my uncle thought that my brother was the best one for this task, as none of us would ever have said no to my uncle.  In a manner of speaking, I was off the “hook” too!  As my brother recounts this story today, we laugh, but back then, it was frightening

On  my most recent trip down to Canada, we pitched camp in the front yard, as the home is no longer habitable,  and spent a few days clearing the brush that had overgrown the property.  We reminisced about our own personal memories and laughed repeatedly over some of the antics, as we likely had done so many moons ago.

As the years have passed, the trips to Black River have become few and far between.  The oldest of the nieces and nephews were introduced quite early on, and there are some who have never even seen the old homestead.  However, for those of us who have experienced this little oasis of calm in life peppered by turbulence, the old sod has been a place where you can connect to the past,  perhaps plan for the future, but clearly  it is the present, a  treasured gift to the soul!

A Saint Among Us

The calendar indicates that it is July 9, 2018.  Ordinarily, the day would come and go for many of us like so many other days do, but today I am reminded of the man I called dad.

In the days following the fourth of July, my father's health seemed to take a sudden turn for the worst.  However, given the fact the he was 93, the decline was more likely due to the end of a life well lived and an inevitability, rather than an unexpected development.  He passed away in the confines of the family home surrounded by his loved ones, a blessing to him and a gift to those he loved.

Dad, everyday since has been a day that your presence has been missed, but indeed, you have certainly not been forgotten.  When I see the cardinals at the feeder in the morning and recall your words of wisdom echo in my mind while talking to family and friends,  I am reminded of your enduring influence.  Your legacy is alive and well, and that brings a smile to my face and a tear to my eye.  Love you!

What the Fourth means to me

Every July fourth, we as Americans gather to celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence, as this marks the birth of our nation.  The founding fathers envisioned a country that was free from tyranny, allowed freedoms that weren't permitted under the rule of England, and above all, allowed us to live as free man and woman.

When all of the cookouts are over, the fireworks have dissipated into the night air, and I awaken tomorrow, I will count my blessings that I am an American.  That advanced citizenship carries advanced responsibilities too, and therein lies the goal set out by our founding fathers. 

Thus, in the words of Thomas Jefferson, as written in our declaration...We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal... We are one people with backgrounds as diverse as our land.  Let's be reminded that as one nation under God we are many people, but one united family,  Happy Fourth of July!

A Mother's Day Gift

Since it is Mother's Day, I thought I'd recall a memory from this day of maternal celebration many years ago.  What does a young child give to his mother when you are just a young shaver, perhaps maybe 5?  Let me tell you what we came up with on our limited budget.

When you are 5 and growing up in this family, the first thing you'd do is rummage through some of the old stuff in the basement or the garage. Then you'd repurpose it into that perfect, but more importantly, personal gift made from the heart for mom.  This case was no exception either.  So, with the clock ticking on the day, there was no time to waste.  With my younger brothers in toe, we took a quick survey of the available raw materials and put our creative minds into action.  There were plenty of odd sized boards, some nails, a hammer, and some old slotted screws needing a purpose.  So, what were we going to make for mom?  When my brother arrived at the construction zone with my youngest brother in our red, radio flyer wagon, it became immediately obvious just what mom would love.  We quickly assembled an airplane by nailing pieces of wood together and letting our imagination do the rest. However, to make the gift complete, we placed the airplane in the wagon and told my youngest brother to climb aboard which he did quite willingly.  I might add, it accurately predicted the future for my brother, as he later became a pilot.  What could be a better gift to a mother than a homemade airplane, complete with its own, life sized pilot, one of her sons?

So, on this Mother's Day, I am reminded of the gift that we gave to my mother many years ago, one that she no doubt "cherished".  In reality, she gave infinitely more to us than we ever did to her. Happy Mother's Day mom, we miss you, but you are always with us!

Not all squares are the same

Many people think of Costa Rica as a vacation destination, but for this mixed group of eager timber framers, Costa Rica has provided a crystal ball into the future for many of us.  My friend and I are in the final days of our adventure, but the fruits of our collective labor will be realized tomorrow as we prepare to raise the roof on this new structure.  That's when the design, calculations, selecting timbers, measuring and remeasuring, cutting timbers, and final assembly will all come together.  It's a process, but one that can only be realized through this cooperative effort.  In less than 2 weeks, this group has morphed into a team of collaborators, students, teachers, artisans, and friends who will all share the same exuberant smile when the final timbers are raised.

However, none of this would have been possible if not for our fearlessly gifted, and at times, tangential leader. He taught us about Sines and Cosines, about opposites and adjacents, about hypotenuses, and about those Tangents, but no matter how odd the angle, it all could be reduced to something we know...use what you know to figure out what you don't.  Isn't that what life is all about anyway?

To summarize my experience in Costa Rica, we were all here to learn something, and that something has been different for each one of us.  Speaking for myself, the experience has been greater than the sum of my expectations.  For now, if I take this as a sine of the future, and multiply that times our maestro's teachings, I think you would agree, that he has his heart right on the the center line, but remember, you have to use the perfect square.  Just do it but with perfection and grace; just Jean-Claude it man!